


A Poor Imitation

by alivehawk1701



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Fantasizing, Heartbreak, M/M, Murder, Rough Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivehawk1701/pseuds/alivehawk1701
Summary: Set at the start of Series 3 after Antony confronts Hannibal; Hannibal can't help but be interested in Antony's offer, can't help but be affected by what happened back in Baltimore, and is struggling to deal with emotions he rarely lets himself feel. Warning violence and smut and slight canon divergence.
Relationships: Anthony Dimmond/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	A Poor Imitation

The grin sliding across his face was well practiced yet careless. The kind of easy and arrogant assurance of self that is invariably held by the conventionally attractive in service to their own selfish desires. He was convinced not only of his own charm but that he had the upper hand. It excited him. A warm teasing glint in his eyes accompanied a perverse yet gleeful curiosity about the fate of Dr. Fell. I sensed the feeling squirming inside of him, a small boyish arousal like plucking wings off a fly, a shallow vision of a much deeper and darker pool. 

When he stepped forward the heat of his body hit my nostrils, making them flare as my pulse quickened. He was aroused. He kept his hands in his pockets, casual, eyes locked onto mine as he bit down lightly at his lower lip. I could smell the blood rushing, the salty leak from his cock which he was touching in his pocket. 

“A generous offer, Mr. Dimmond,” I said, eyes lowering to the pout of his lower lip, creased slightly down the center. So unlike the sharp dynamic diamond shape over Will’s full lips, “Are you so sure that you could satisfy me?”

He stepped forward again, the floorboards creaking under him, close enough that I could feel the vibrations in the air caused by the beating of his heart. My body was reacting to the proximity, to the smell, soothed perhaps in learning that he had no immediate intention to report me to the authorities. Or perhaps because he reminded me of someone. He slid his hands from his pockets and leaned forward enough so that his breath was wet over my lips. With one hand he guided my hips forward to press into his, lips parted as he felt my own arousal pressing hard against his. 

“I’m very good,” he said over my mouth, the hairs of his beard teasing the sensitive nerve endings as he rocked his hips forward. Slowly, he ran the tip of his tongue over my upper lip, playfully waiting for a response. Pupil blown, brown eyes begged a question. I dropped my own hands to his hips and inhaled deeply his unfamiliar scent. Let my eyes roll shut for a moment.

“You strike me as a man who expends vast amounts of energy maintaining appearances. Perhaps in  _ resisting _ ,” he dragged out the last word as a hum, “Some of your darker urges. Ones your wife may not be able to . . .” he sighed as he slid a hand down to grip my erection hard through my trousers, “Accommodate,” 

He has no idea who I am. No idea what I am capable of. How quickly I could kill him. He believes I am an imposter. He is correct. He believes I am a repressed man fearful of his sexuality, hiding behind his work in a twisted fantasy world. Regarding this he is half right. I am not fearful of my sexuality. There are so many other parts of myself to be fearful of. The physical act itself, blood rushing to genitals, the release of neurochemicals at the point of completion, these all sooth me in their simplicity, indeed sexual release is a healthy coping tool for the human animal. It needn't be more complicated than that. 

And for the first time since coming back to Europe I felt the stirring of life from under the ruins, the barest flutter of wings buried deep in my chest, aching to be released. I wanted this. My breath was heaving in my chest and I felt my face twist, losing composure as my hands tightened on his hips. What he didn’t know was just how little energy I was actually allocating to appearances. Not anymore. So many of my actions in the last few months have been reckless. Impulsive. And part of me has reveled in it. The threads broken loose, all those months ago, had remained frayed and detached from the whole. I’d lost myself. The comfort I’d formally found in the quiet routine of planning and sharing my art with the world was lost to me. Satisfaction just out of reach. 

Dimmond groaned, fingertips sliding over the length of me through the damp fabric, making my cock twitch as desire pulsed violently through me, “Why not let it all go?” he asked with delight, “You’re far too attractive for that little crease in your brow, Doctor.”

WIth the same careless certainty his hands found my belt buckle while he tried to coax my lips apart to the sound of my zipper going down. When his hand slid down to grasp my now exposed throbbing red shaft I shuddered, alarmed by the intensity, bright sparks of pleasure lighting behind my eyelids. Rolled my hips forward into his fist, half lidded eyes lowering to his face.

Don’t want to see the dark curls, the line of his jaw, the stubble on his cheeks, the eyes that were the wrong colour, the wrong shape. Mourning was messy, ugly, a departure from the careful control I valued. And thinner was the veil between the darkness and myself. It flowed easily out into the world. And I wanted to let it. Despite the danger, despite, or because, his undeniable similarity to Will; I wanted this. 

I shot a hand to Dimmond’s throat, making his hand stop as a small whine escaped his throat. His shaking eyes shifted up to mine. What if they were blue, I asked myself, if just for a moment.

“Don’t say another word,” I told him. His pulse pounded under my palm. I enjoyed the sensation for several seconds, drawing in the faint smell of wine spilled on the lapel of his dark jacket, cigarette smoke, and the distant smell of anchovy paste spread over a crust of bread he’d had for lunch. Flickered my eyes downward to see him eagerly palming himself through his trousers as he again wrapped delicate fingers around me. 

I gritted my teeth against a moan that wanted to escape my lips as his fist fiercely gripped the base of my cock. A small drip of precum beaded and slid slowly from the head as I shivered. He wanted me to make a sound, wanted me to beg for him to go faster. I wouldn’t. He leaned forward to kiss me again but I shook my head as I slowly relaxed my fingers around his throat and trailed them lightly over his open mouth. He snaked his tongue out and sucked at one finger, then two, letting me push them past his teeth as his tongue pulsed around them. I offered him the smallest of smiles, pleased at the wonton look on his face bathed in shadow. 

An image blinked across my mind. A face warm in the light of a fire. The most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. Eyes that discovered me in the darkest reaches of my mind, in stale lonely rooms where footsteps echoed and nothing ever changed. Eyes that had made me doubt. Eyes that had made me vulnerable. Eyes that had ruined me. 

I pushed Dimmond’s shoulders down and he fell to his knees. Reached backward to steady myself on the wooden breaking wheel as the flat of his tongue ran up the underside of my cock, tongue circling the tip before dipping his lips over the whole head. Breath left me then, a strangled sound in desperate desire for release. I gripped the man’s dark hair and dragged his head forward, enjoying the gag as the entire length of me slid into the tight eager wetness of his throat. My head rolled back, groans matching each thrust into his mouth, the mounting pressure making me shake. When he hummed the sensation shot up my entire spine, held tight by his hands, one squeezing my ass, the other bruising my hip bone. Still the memory of delicate blue irises lingered. I thrust faster, fucking his mouth in pure, unsatiable frenzy. The centuries old wood nearly cracked under my hand, creaking in protest as I let him show me just how good he was. The hungry hollowing of his cheeks, the head of my cock hitting the back of his throat, tongue expertly circling and flicking in a measured determined rhythm. 

So close to cuming already. Wanted to spill myself down his throat. Wanted this to heal the fracture, rid me of the gnawing ache of everything lost, everything I’d destroyed. Wanted to believe in the fading fantasy of Will and I together again; happy, a family, with Abigail and quiet mornings by the sea. The life, the promise, I’d built. Wanted Will’s head to rest on my chest as the sun rose, wanted his sweet lips, his peaceful moments to be shared with mine. Wanted him to come to me willingly. Wanted him here with me. Wanted every part of him.

Glanced down to the body in front of me as the smell of the sea lingered, the taste of salt on Will’s skin, a smile as he awakened. Pulled out of his throat, shaking with the effort not to cum. Dimmond leaned back on his heels, eyes half lidded, waiting for the hot jets of my cum to spurt all over his face. The cool air on the wetness of my cock rose goosebumps on my thighs. 

“Stand up,” I told him. He stood, still touching himself, “Turn,” I told him, watching him face the breaking wheel, hands gripping the spokes. I laid myself against his back, an arm wrapping slowly around his waist to undo his trousers. His hips tilted backwards in search of contact. I slid his pants down to his knees.

“Yesss,” he groaned and rutted against me as I slid my wet cock over the crease of his ass, tense wanting moments as the head of my cock met the dry, unstretched opening. Now he begged. Spat quickly into my hand and smoothed it over the sensitive skin. Leaned forward so my mouth was near his ear, lined myself up and held my breath. Rocked my hips forward, testing, teasing, eyes fluttering in anticipation. It’d been so long. He started to shake and moan at the slow, aching intrusion as I forced myself past the first hot ring of flesh. Slow. Eyes closed. Imagined Will’s legs wrapped around me, his head thrown back, skin glistening as I filled him, hearing him moan like music. I pushed myself several more inches deeper, needing to stop at the insane tightness and at the cry of pain from his curved throat. 

The sound echoed from the past. Of Will crying out in agony as my knife plunged into him. Anger and heartbreak, the only decisiveness available to me was violence, never hurt like this before. Never wanted to hurt like this again. Eyes opened and the blurry image of a white and blue room by the sea faded along with Will’s smell, the feel of his heartbeat under my palm and the sound of the waves. 

Stopped moving suddenly, breath coming in harsh shuddering gasps. Dimmond whined in frustration and I felt the whole illusion shatter.

I managed to steady myself enough to lean forward again, a shaking hand clasped around his neck and whispered, “I don’t want you,” I was hard and pulsing inside of him, aching to cum, holding myself completely still.

“Oh really?” he managed, almost a laugh.

“You are nothing compared to him,” I said, hanging on at the point of orgasm, “You pale in every way possible.”

“Whoever he is, he’s not here is he?” he said in a teasing way.

I pulled all the way out of him and reached into my jacket for my knife, repulsed to see it actually shook in my hand. 

“What are you--” Dimmond started to ask, twisting around, before the tip of my blade plunged into the base of his skull. His legs immediately turned to jelly and caused him to collapse like a doll to the floor. He didn’t scream. He couldn’t. Just raspy small, pained breaths, limbs jerking feebly as the blood pooled. 

I was out of breath. Shaking. And still intensely hard. With what final tendrils of my devastated imagination I had left I closed my eyes, reached again for support on the wheel and gripped my cock with a blood wet hand. With one, two, three frantic strokes, lips pressed against the warm skin of Wills neck, our bodies wrapped tightly around each other, my name on his lips, I came with a shuddering sob then collapsed to the ground next to Dimmond. 

Eyes closed as I returned reluctantly to the present. The sweat is cooling on my body, leaving me to shiver in the sudden quiet, the only sound is our breaths in the stillness. And I’m immediately disgusted with myself. Shocked by the departure from self. By the ugliness. What had I just done? How have I strayed so far? I’ve never intermingled sex and violence. Never compromised the artistry. Now blood and cum dirtied my hands. And I could no longer sense Will. Not in this. 

Looked to Dimmond, whose eyes were open, limbs twisted at odd angles underneath him, “I’m sorry,” I said, still trying to steady my breath, “This dalliance did not help me untwist as much as I’d hoped,” Feeling uncoordinated, I took the knife and slit open Dimmond’s jacket and shirt to expose the bare skin of his back. Wide panicked eyes tried to stretch themselves backward to me. I wanted to gouge them out, “And for what it’s worth I do apologize for my impropriety. It’s nothing you did, Antony, in another time and place we would have enjoyed each other. But I’ve been avoiding feeling something,” I thought for a moment, staring down at the knife in my hand covered in blood and ejacuate, “Heartbreak.”

Emotion rarely factored into killing for me. This kill was rife with emotion. I was angry. Hurt. Lost. I’d wanted to use Antony. Wanted to forget for a moment. But instead the pain and longing came to meet me like waves against a cliff. And he had invaded my fantasy. Ruined it. This is unlike me. I needed to find myself again. The parts that I’d left behind in Will. 

The slow trickle from the broken barrier in my mind strengthened to a river as I slid the knife down the line of his vertebrae and marveled at the sound of metal on bone, like an instrument, stopping when it became lodged in the hip bone. He gasped a few more desperate times as I tucked myself back into my trousers and stood. I knew exactly what I would do with the body. Knew exactly what shape the tableau would take. My broken heart.

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot written after a rewatch of the episode. All involved were changed by what happened, Hannibal "over reacted" and in my mind is dealing with the violence he is capable of and the heartbreak he experienced after losing his dream of a family. Yes he didn't kill Dimmond at the museum. Slight change there. And though I know Hannibal would never muddy a kill with sex related violence I wanted to highlight how much he was hurt; how far his pain reached and how even he is capable of doing things, like masterbating over a kill, yes shocking, that he is deeply ashamed of and is outside his control. I understand this is a big crossing the line action for him but as I wrote it, angsty as it was, it felt right, needed, for him to grow past it. He killed Dimmond because he reminded him of Will and made him face his feelings. His first kill with an emotional motive, maybe. Also Antony or Anthony? I'm choosing Antony, sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Anyway, I'm starting work on a long Hannigram fic so will post that once I get most if not all of it done, I'm excited about it and can't wait to share. Hope you enjoyed, leave your thoughts and feelings below. I love this fandom and good conversation abounds, especially in fics where some liberties are taken . . . thanks!


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